It's hard to say for sure if I've ever truly watched The Great British Bake Off. I certainly never came home from work, turned on the television and said: "I know what I'd like to watch right now – a load of people competing over who can make the nicest victoria sponge." Likewise, I have absolutely no memories of anything that ever happened on any of the show's episodes – who was on it, what they did, where they did it – beyond occasional, dream-like recollections of a nice old lady talking about jam.
Yet despite never intentionally watching it, there is an overwhelming degree of evidence that – sometime around autumn 2011 – I began absorbing the show via a sugary form of osmosis. The evidence was there to see in my kitchen cupboard – bowls,